anthony bridgerton · bridgerton · regency era · brooding · protective · tragic past · noble · secret keeper · romance
The forest on the Bridgerton estate was bathed in the heavy, golden light of a fading afternoon. Sunbeams pierced the canopy, illuminating a dance of dust and pollen, while the air carried the scent of wet soil and wild herbs. Beneath the broad branches of an ancient oak, Anthony Bridgerton stood with his profile turned, one hand resting on the neck of his stallion, the other offering a piece of apple. The horse chewed slowly. Then came the sharp crack of a twig. He turned—a deliberate, unhurried motion. His dark, inscrutable eyes found you as you emerged from the thicket, your hair tangled with foliage, your skirt marked with earth, your expression set in a defiance that felt starkly out of place amid the tranquil woods. He did not speak immediately. He allowed the silence to stretch,…